


From the storm I stare (hold on to me)

by lonelywalker



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Age Difference, F/M, Older Man/Younger Woman, reversefrost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-09
Updated: 2015-04-09
Packaged: 2018-03-22 02:34:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3711595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonelywalker/pseuds/lonelywalker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’s very simple.” His voice is tantalizingly quiet, his breath a whisper on her face. “You keep my secret, and I’ll keep yours.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	From the storm I stare (hold on to me)

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the promo for 1x18. Title from Isac Elliot's "Parachute".

Her skin is tingling; the world is white.

It’s not something anyone can ever get used to, traveling at rollercoaster speeds outside any vehicle, the air pushed from her lungs, her eyes blinded by the air. But it is at least familiar, that sensation, from the times Barry has taken her in his arms and run hundreds of miles in minutes. What isn’t familiar now is the way her entire surroundings change in less time than it takes her mind to flit from one thought to another. The afterimage of the urgently-blinking red security screens is still a vivid green on the white wall that fills her vision now. And she still can’t quite grasp back at that last thought, get her bearings, make sense of anything, until her body tenses and reflexively gasps in a fresh breath.

_Oh God._

His arms are still around her as though they’ve been dancing, the fabric of his shirt surprisingly soft against her skin. He smells of the cologne she gave him for his last birthday. 

She pushes him away, smacking her head into the wall she hadn’t realized was behind her.

“Careful.” His voice is low, gentle, his hand touching her hair. “Are you all right?”

So many things are _not_ all right, but she’d give anything if they were. There’s an almost irresistible temptation to just lean back into his shoulder, close her eyes, and force herself not to think about any of it: the accusations Barry and Joe had made, the disturbing things they’d said, the way they were forcing her to choose between people who were all more than friends. She’d honestly been concerned for both of them. To blame Dr. Wells of _all_ people for those crimes. Even Joe himself seemed like a more reasonable suspect. But then there had been worse, crazier things. Killer bees. Robot suits. And now…

She sneaks a glance upward.

It’s him. It really is him, as though she could seriously doubt it for a second. But he’s taller than she is, which he hasn’t been in over a year, and they’ve barely ever been this close. 

“Caitlin.” He tilts his head, thumb brushing her temple. “Did you hear me?”

“I’m…” She swallows. “I’m fine.” 

When he steps back, though, slipping off his glasses, she wonders if she might faint. Fainting would, in fact, be a wonderful idea. Let herself think this was all a dream. When the bees got into the lab, she must have been stung, gone into anaphylactic shock, been momentarily deprived of oxygen. She’s always been good at lying to herself. Unfortunately, she’s also always been good at dealing with stress. No surgeon worth her salt can just pass out at the first sign of danger.

“Where are we?” It seems like the least alarming question on her mind. The room is a stark, empty white, designed with irregular bumps that remind her of Braille, with no furniture but a single plinth or lectern, as if designed to give lectures to a blank wall. In his black clothes, with his dark hair, he stands out like a negative image.

“We’re safe. No one can access this room unless I want them to.”

Caitlin takes a step forward, looking behind her, then up at the ceiling. “But we’re still at S.T.A.R. Labs? The bees?”

“Don’t worry about the bees. Even they can’t get in.”

She nods and swallows. If only there were more to talk about. Something a bit more urgent than why he’s standing up when she’s _seen_ the hospital scans of his mangled spine. Or how he got them here. Or why he has a secret room she’s never seen in all her years working at the lab.

The answer, of course, is… Well, she knows the answer. She knows he knows she knows. He didn’t hire her for her pretty face. (If he did, she definitely doesn’t want to know _that_.)

“Who are you?” Her voice is surprisingly strong.

“You know who I am, Caitlin.”

She’d thought she did. Other than her parents, she’s never been so close to anyone for so long. College friends have drifted away. Boyfriends have broken up with her over the phone. But Harrison Wells has been a rock for her, even while he was in the hospital. Despite the fact she’d never been to his house before Hartley smashed his roof, she never calls him by his first name, and she’s never seen him without his glasses for so long, he’s one of her closest friends. The kind of person she’d take a bullet for, although she’d prefer not to take any bullets for anyone, thank you very much.

And then there’s the other person she knows he must be. The only person other than Barry who could have got them both out of the Cortex so quickly. The only person who might pretend to need a wheelchair for months upon months. 

“I... there are two answers to that.”

He smiles. It’s supposed to be an evil, soulless smile in situations like this. She’s seen enough movies. But his is the genuine smile she’s longed to provoke on so many occasions. The one that lights up his already bright eyes and warms her heart. “Can’t they both be right?”

Before she can speak, he takes something golden from his pocket and slides it onto the middle finger of his left hand. A ring. And one of these Braille-like bumps must be a lock, because when he touches the ring to it, the wall slides open. Another turn in another lock, and there it is. The yellow suit. For a moment, she’s more fascinated than scared, despite the dread in her stomach, and moves toward him to get a better view.

It’s displayed the same way Barry’s red suit is in the lab, the mask sinister without a face. She’s never seen it before except in a blur, but it really is the reverse of Barry’s, even the lightning flash scored in the opposite direction on its chest. Some details are different, though: armor, it looks like, and lines across the abs that she’d _have_ to comment on if the situation were a little different. 

“But _why_?” She’s almost alongside him, arm to arm, when she says it.

He hesitates, and she can tell it’s a hesitation rather than a pause, before he turns toward her and shows her the ring. She takes his hand in hers, steadying it so she can see. Another lightning bolt.

“I was the Flash once,” he says, “in my home, where I come from. Or I thought I could be. It turns out I was very wrong. But still… we form a balance. Positive and negative. Yin and yang. Flash and Reverse Flash.”

“You killed Barry’s mother.” Not a smart thing to say. But she wouldn’t take it back. If he’s going to kill her, or keep her captive, or something worse… well, she might as well know why.

He takes his hand back, shaking his head. “I never intended to hurt her. And that was a very long time ago.”

Fifteen years. People do change in fifteen years. People serve out prison sentences for murder in less. Yet the rest of Barry’s allegations come to mind. “And Simon Stagg? Mason Bridge? Those police officers? The Mercury scientists?”

“I do what I have to.” His tone isn’t angry, isn’t defensive. “I protect my own, and I would never hurt you.”

“So I can go? You’ll just let me walk out of here?” Not that there’s actually a door anywhere. Maybe his ring opens one.

He looks past her, then walks to the plinth, sweeping his hand over it. “Gideon, give me a status report.”

And the wall _shifts_ , as though a human face is emerging from it. Caitlin takes a step back, despite herself. 

“Sensors report Level 700 is still a hazardous area, Dr. Wells.”

“Let me know when that changes, will you? Or if anyone else enters the building.”

“Of course. Hello Dr. Snow.”

Caitlin’s eyebrows raise. “Um. Hello?”

Harrison looks back over his shoulder at her. That smile again. “Caitlin, this is Gideon. A very old friend of mine, you might say.”

“Is it… she… an AI?” Cisco would have more intelligent questions. On the other hand, he might not get any of them out in between the excited squealing.

It’s as if Harrison and the face exchange a look. “Well… yes and no. We’ve talked a lot about you.”

“About _me_?”

Another hand sweep, and the face disappears. “You’re very important to me, Caitlin. Always have been.”

They’re the words she’s longed for since she first met him. His approval. His respect. Even his admiration. She was younger then (but not that much younger), dazzled by this hopelessly handsome, brilliant man. Still, something leaps within her, and she smiles back.

“I don’t know what it is you want,” she says. From her. From Barry. From any of them.

His teeth tug at his lower lip a little, and she watches him look at her, really look at her, all the way from her impractical shoes to her windblown hair. “Do you remember what I told you when we were watching the Stein house?”

The Stein house. Their little stakeout. It’s hard to imagine that this is the same man who got so excited about playing detective for a night. Who wolfed down Big Belly Burgers with gusto. They’d talked about a lot of things while they ate and waited. But only one thing has been playing on her mind ever since. “That home… It’s not a house. It’s someone who makes you feel safe and loved.”

“Yes. And what I want is to find a way back to my home.”

“To… to Tess?” It doesn’t make sense, and she can’t find a way to slot together the different pieces of the puzzle.

“Tess… no, not Tess.” He bites his lip again, and his next breath is more of a sigh. “I’ve waited fifteen years. Been _stranded_ here, planning, waiting. And it should have been torture, spending all that time longing to get home. But I’m not the same man I was. And I’m not sure that home is where I left it.”

She might not understand all he’s saying – the part about fifteen years especially – but she knows what he means. Seeing Ronnie again, holding him, going to bed with him… She loves him. She’ll always love him. But she’d lain awake in the West house rather than feeling safe, snuggled in his arms. In those late, late hours, what she’d been thinking about was Harrison Wells, his words, and the new home she’s found with Team Flash. Except it hadn’t been the Flash who’d made her decide to stay after the accident.

“Harrison…” she says, and she’s never _ever_ said it before (who knows if it’s even his real name?), but it’s the way she thinks of him when she’s alone. When she thinks over her life and makes choices that steer it one way or another. Now there’s no opportunity to sit quietly and think things over. But her head is suddenly clear and cool.

“Yes?”

The white walls bring out that fluid blue of his eyes, define the set of his shoulders, the muscles of his arms. He seems younger, less professorial. More like a man who might dress in yellow leather and run like the wind.

“What are we going to do?”

There it is, as he cocks his head once more and then closes the gap between them. _We._ As if she and the man in the yellow suit are suddenly playing on the same team. As if she can tie herself to a murderer. But those things, those ideas, don’t take into account the fact that she long ago decided there could never _not_ be a “we” when it came to herself and Harrison Wells.

“It’s very simple.” His voice is tantalizingly quiet, his breath a whisper on her face. “You keep my secret, and I’ll keep yours.”

And her breath stops completely.

Just a year ago she would have been able to frown with genuine puzzlement, to think _which secret?_ and wonder whether he was talking about a drunken one-night stand, or the time she’d cheated on high school homework questions. But now the worst, most painful thing is that she knows exactly what he’s talking about. And the fact that he’s talking about it makes it real.

“Don’t be scared,” Harrison says. “I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

If he’d said it before, she would’ve been grateful, but it would’ve been an empty statement from the Harrison Wells who needed a wheelchair, who himself was vulnerable to everyday life, let alone metahumans. But this Harrison Wells… when she lets herself fall forward, burying her face in his chest, she truly does feel safe as his arms gather around her, as he strokes her hair. He is, she realizes with what’s almost a smile, the fastest man alive.

“But I can’t control it.” The words spill out of her now. “And it’s getting worse. I can’t… There’s nothing in all the books, all the research...”

“Because a cure hasn’t been invented yet.” He nods, as though her worst fears are nothing but a child’s nightmare. “Trust me. I’m an expert on things that haven’t been invented yet. I haven’t even been born yet, and look at me.”

 _Look at him._ It’s not the first time she’s found hope and comfort in that face. 

“I know what it’s like to be cold and alone, Caitlin. But I have lightning in my veins, and I’m never going to leave you. On my life, I promise you that.”

Thinking critically and being skeptical is hard now, feeling the pulse of his heart, the very warmth of him. “You’re telling me everything I want to hear.”

“It’s everything I’ve wanted to say for a long time. And we both know most of this wasn’t something you wanted to know.”

She straightens up, not quite pulling away. She needs to see his eyes again. “Promise me you won’t hurt Barry and Cisco.” She could add so many more names to that list: Ronnie and Stein, Joe and Iris, Felicity and Oliver – all people who might stand in his way, either intentionally or inadvertently.

“I won’t kill them,” he says, and that’s enough. Enough for her to take his face in her hands and kiss him, although the doubt twists in her mind while she does it that maybe this was never what he meant, never what he wanted. But his arms tighten around her as he leans into the kiss, his mouth opening hers, and he’s so warm, inside and out, that the chill down her spine has never been so obvious or so frightening.

“I could hurt you.” She jerks away, everything Cisco had ever said about the Cold Gun coming to mind again. “I could really hurt you.”

“Natural enemies,” Harrison says. “Yes. I know.”

The second time, the kiss is deeper, her fingers curling in his hair, her body pressed ever closer to his. Where this is going, where this is _all_ going beyond these white walls, is too painful to consider. All she wants is the sureness of one wall at her back, and Harrison with her, holding her, tasting her. His warmth is infectious, blazing through her, stirring needs that haven’t been satisfied in so, so long. 

She slips her hands down, daring to touch him in a way she never has, except after the Reverse Flash attacked him (how did he do that to himself?). The shirt comes loose from his pants easily, and there’s no undershirt beneath. His eyes meet hers and he disentangles himself long enough to pull it all the way off. She’s seen his skin before, knows he bleeds, that he’s as human as Barry is, or she is. But in this inhuman room it’s still a relief.

“Please,” she says, and it’s a plea to the universe as well: don’t let the danger pass, don’t let the team return, before they’re ready.

He nods, kissing her throat as he feels her breasts through her dress, the nipples hard. She could be naked in a second if he used his speed, but she needs some abnormal things to be normal for a moment, and maybe so does he. Her hand cups the bulge at the crotch of his slacks, and he moves against her, sighing her name. How long has he wanted this? As long as she has? It’s almost too much, that idea that they could have been doing this for so long already, that he could have held her, made love to her, that very first night after the accident when she couldn’t stop shivering.

Harrison loosens his belt with one hand and undoes his fly.

He’s strong when he lifts her, her dress bunched up around her hips, strong and steady as the bumps of the wall press into her back and she wraps her legs around him. If she’s imagined this before – and she has – it wasn’t like this. But those imaginings, of him moving over her amid soft, silky sheets, seem foolishly girlish now. This is real, they are adults, and- “ _Yes_ ,” she says when he pushes into her, past her panties, a little rough no matter how wet she is or how much she wants him. “Oh yes.” 

If she were to list the things she _doesn’t_ do, which would be a long list, this could probably only be worsened by some cigarettes and heroin. Alcohol might actually help to excuse being fucked up against a wall by a… by her _boss_ , no condom, clothes half on. But it’s perfect, he’s perfect: the thick slide of him inside her, his breath hot on her cheek, and she doesn’t even really _need_ the fingers he slips in between them, deft and practiced. 

It doesn’t last long. There’s no time, and the urgency makes her hotter, her need more intense, so that she’s coming against his fingertips, around his cock, her cry echoing around the walls and then merging with his own. “Caitlin,” he says, his hips still juddering. “Caitlin… Oh God.”

His wall AI probably can’t clear its throat, but there is _some_ kind of mechanical noise before it speaks, so that Harrison jerks up his head from her shoulder. 

“Dr. Wells, the hazard passed some time ago, and the GPS sensors on the vehicles indicate-”

“Yes. Thank you, Gideon.”

She _thinks_ she sees a glimmer of red lightning in the split-second it takes for them both to be fully, properly, neatly dressed again. Harrison’s glasses are back on. The ring has disappeared. She can still feel him inside her.

“I have a house,” he says with a half-smile, just when she expects him to take her up in his arms and speed them back to the Cortex. “Perhaps later you might find your way there.”

“You don’t have other errands to run?” The yellow suit has disappeared back behind its wall.

The smile is wider now. “After we dispatch the killer bees and our visitors from Starling City? I think we can all have the night off.”


End file.
